


Skin Doesn't Break Like Glass

by AwokenMonster



Series: Gifts [11]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Bet you thought it was fluff the first few paragraphs, Denial, Heavy Angst, M/M, No suicidal Pete though, PTSD, Pete is not depressed here, Tadbit of Insanity, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 21:56:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13257417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwokenMonster/pseuds/AwokenMonster
Summary: Joe seems to know something about Pete that Patrick doesn't.a heavy angst Peterick ficM rated for adult themes





	Skin Doesn't Break Like Glass

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Juunawon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juunawon/gifts).



> Monster: Hi guys! I am proud to say that this is actually one of my better FOB works, seriously. I wanted to write some heavy angst for my lovely beta, Juuna because she's been such an angel with her feedback and help. I'd been wanting to gift her something since The Will To Live when she said "I love angst!". Anyway, I've got 3 more Peterick one-shots practically finished but I'll bundle those in a Fall Out Boy One-Shot Series. Enjoy!

“What would you like to do today?” Pete asked, a platinum smile decorating the gentle features of his face as he leaned his head on his forearms, lying sideways on the bed with his partner.

Patrick shrugged, an ember burning in his heart as he looked at the crinkles of his eyes. You could never fake a smile like that. “I don’t care. You pick.”

Pete reached out his free hand to cup the singer’s cheek and traced the curve of his luscious pink lips.

“Stay in?” he proposed with a slight hum, eyes half-lidded and chin tilted to watch his lover.

“No, we did that yesterday”, Patrick argued, wishing to suck the words back in when Pete’s smile faded. The younger pouted, reaching out both hands to pull the corners of his mouth up again but Pete turned his head away and rubbed his cheeks where Patrick had pinched them. “My face is not The Mask, you know.”

“Green?” The blonde teased with a grin.

Pete rolled his eyes, the palm of his hand smacking the other in the forehead lightly. “No, made of rubber, idiot.”

“Sorry”, Patrick chuckled, propping himself up into a sitting position, still facing his boyfriend. He let his head fall sideways on his shoulder, watching Pete stretch with a yawn before he looked up. “What time is it?”

He craned his neck back, trying to look at the clock behind him on the night stand but eventually ended up looking at Patrick. “You can see the time better than me. What does it read?”

“You could’ve just checked your phone”, the younger man shook his head, “It’s 10:34.”

Pete raised both his eyebrows, eyes wide and face blank. What? Was there something wrong? What was with that time? Not like they were late in the studio. The band took a day off, although Patrick couldn’t remember why. They’d all been so sad about it when he asked what the occasion was. So strange but who was he to complain about having no work to do today?

He wanted to enjoy every second of the freedom with Pete. His beautiful Pete. “It’s getting a little late to still be in bed, isn’t it?”

Pete seemed to awake out of his shocked state, slipping back into his old self as he murmured. “You used to sleep until noon and we’d hav-…”

The words died in his throat as Patrick caressed his hair. He hummed contently, practically purring and curling into his lap. He loved the gentle feeling of the nails scraping against his scalp. Pete scurried closer until his head was in Patrick’s lap and it made the other chuckle.

“You’re so cute when you do that.”

“I’m not cute!” Pete whined. “I’m a man!”

“A cute man?”

“Cute is for boys, I told you that ten times before”, the bassist complained with a huff. “I’m thirty-four.”

“Oh please, don’t remind me”, Patrick dramatically stated, earning a stomp in the arm as Pete got up. “Maybe we should get up though.”

The blonde nodded and crawled unceremoniously out of bed. He grabbed their clothes and waved them at Pete with a shooing movement. “Go. Go.”

The bassist raised an eyebrow as he was ushered into the bathroom. “The bathroom, really?”

“I don’t want your smelly ass at the breakfast table”, Patrick hushed him but the older man made an insulted sound. “You said you loved my smell!”

“Stench, you mean”, he retorted. “And are you really saying no to a shower together?” Patrick asked, earning a mischievous smile as the other stripped naked.

Though the smile was no longer there when he stepped out, fresh and clean. “You’re evil!”

“Why now?” Patrick complained.

Pete folded a towel around himself. “We just showered.”

“Yeah?”

“Nothing more”, the black haired man pouted and Patrick laughed. “We don’t always have to do that when we shower together, do we?”

“I suppose not”, Pete shrugged, feeling a lot more awake and fresh when he put on his clothes. As did Patrick.

The pair headed downstairs for breakfast. Joe was sitting at the breakfast table, poking around some cornflakes in a bowl of milk as he leaned his head in his hand.

“Morning, Joe!” Pete called out actively but the guitarist didn’t react so Patrick grinned and mockingly called out: “Good morning to you too, Pete!”

Joe looked up when the singer spoke but there was something off about the way he looked at him. There was a hint of pity in his eyes and it threw Patrick off for a moment. He gazed at Pete who only shrugged in response.

The blonde sat down, poured himself a bowl of cornflakes and then one for Pete.

Joe flinched when the singer shoved the other bowl at the bassist. It was peculiar behaviour for sure and Patrick cast a glance at Pete again. He seemed to think the exact same thing.

“What’s up, Joe? You’re so jumpy this morning”, Pete wondered but Joe didn’t seem to have heard him at all.

Patrick frowned. “Joe?”

At least, that made him look up. Although he was glaring now.

“Pete asked you a question.”

The guitarist stomped his fist into the table and forcefully rose from his seat, his chair falling back. “WOULD YOU FUCKING STOP ALREADY?!”

Patrick stared at him in shock, at total loss for words. Joe picked his chair up and slowly sat down again, face shielded from his friends by his hair.

The singer looked at Pete but he was only staring back at him with a blank face. He would be no help.

Joe finally made eye contact with Patrick again, desperation slipping into his expression and voice as he _begged_ : “Just stop, Patrick. Pete’s been dead for a year now. Please, just stop.”

The blonde thought he hadn’t heard him well, eyes wide. He glanced at the older man next to him. Pete’s eyes were glazed over. His face was grey, almost a porcelain look.

“Is that true?” Patrick whispered, feeling stupid for doubting when the man was clearly sitting next to him.

The bassist averted his eyes.

“Pete?”

Pete closed his eyes, skin showing cracks like it was made of glass and it wasn’t even a metaphor. His skin was fractured. “Don’t ask things you don’t wanna know, Patrick.”

His voice was static.

“I wanna know!” Patrick yelled, reality sinking in that his sight must be betraying him. Skin doesn’t break like glass. Skin tears and bleeds.

The volume of his voice made one of the cracks split through his face and Pete smiled sadly. The split through his mouth made it feel surreal. There was nothing but darkness beyond the cracks. Just a black liquid dripping through the seams. “Don’t try to remember, Patrick. I was just protecting you from the truth. You’ll get hurt if you try to remember…”

With every word, he crumbled more and more until he was scattered in a million pieces, nothing but a black puddle on the floor. This wasn’t Pete.

That thought alone made the black puddle disappear. It had never been there in the first place. It wasn’t real.

Pete wasn’t real.

He couldn’t breathe.

Patrick remembered everything, the details vague like trying to remember a dream you once had. It was all a blur of lights and a shifting of decors.

_“There’s been an accident.”_

_What kind of accident?_

_“…Pete is in the hospital, Patrick. Please just…”_

_Pete?_

_“Intensive care…”_

_What do you mean, he’s unstable?_

_“No visitors allowed.”_

_Let me in. Let me see him…_

_“…heading into surgery soon.”_

_Everything will be fine. They can fix him._

_“I’m sorry, we couldn’t…”_

_No… no._

_“Time of passing; 10:34.”_

_10:34_

_Time of passing_

_10…34_

That’s too late to still be in bed.

Ten… thirty-four…

_“Cute is for boys, I told you that ten times before”, the bassist complained with a huff. “I’m thirty-four.”_

Funny. Pete said he was thirty-four. He wasn’t. He hadn’t been when he died either. He was younger than that.

Nor did he ever say cute was for boys more than once.

Patrick felt a horrible curtain of dread fall upon his shoulders. A veil that felt as heavy as the weight of a thousand people stomping on his body. His heart sunk to his stomach but he wouldn’t cry.

Something told him he had shed enough tears the moment it happened. He turned to Joe who quietly swiped on his phone, casting glances at him like he was trying to make sure Patrick wasn’t going mad.

The singer hated his voice when it broke down in the middle: “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

It took Joe a while to realize he was talking to him. He’d probably got used to the fact he’d talk to _Pete_ , dead Pete, air, instead of him.

Joe put away his phone and leaned his elbows on the table, swallowing a lump. “Do you remember that time Pete was late for dinner?”

Patrick nodded.

“That was after the accident. You made dinner for the three of us. The accident forgotten. You were confused. You said Pete would come home eventually. He always came home to you”, Joe muttered. “It was the saddest thing I’d ever heard so I didn’t say anything.”

He awaited the other’s reaction but Patrick licked his lips and nodded for him to continue.

“A few days later you commented on how strange it was that Pete still hadn’t come home. I was going to tell you then but you suddenly opened the door.”

“I’d heard the doorbell and Pete was there”, Patrick filled in for him. “I was so happy to see him again because I’d been so worried.”

“You hugged him.”

“I did”, the singer smiled.

Joe averted his eyes. “But there was no one there. You told me Pete had returned to you. I didn’t have the courage to break your heart. I thought it would go away on its own but Patrick, it’s been a year. Exactly a year. Pete is dead. I can’t take it anymore that you keep going like he’s still with us. We have to move on.”

 _Exactly a year_. That must be the occasion of the day off.

Patrick sighed. “He’s not with us anymore. I can’t even see him.”

“I’m sorry for that but it wasn’t him. It wasn’t real.”

“I know”, the singer replied, feeling like no sigh in the world could fix his sorrows. No breath could take away the cracks in his skin. The thick skin that was supposed to protect him from getting hurt. He was crumbling.

He lost the love of his life a year ago but it felt like it only just happened. Somehow he knew it would tear him apart a little more with each passing day.

Maybe he would’ve been better off believing Pete was alive, talking to the hallucination his mind had made up to protect him.

_“Don’t try to remember, Patrick. I was just protecting you from the truth. You’ll get hurt if you try to remember…”_

There was no going back to his ignorant state.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment, they're our heavy fuel!


End file.
